Bloodsport
by Tijuana Pirate
Summary: Rufus Shinra does not indulge in the sports of common men. Rufus-Reno, Rufus pov. FF7 OGC.


**Author's Notes**: Let me preface this with a Bwahahahahahahahahaha.

I wrote this because I get tired of Turk slash fiction that somehow manages to transform some of the most dangerous people on the Planet to emo teenage boys. I decided to ask myself: what would it _really sound like_ if Reno and Rufus were paired? The answer is that it's highly gratuitous but I promise that I never use the p-word. This story is rated M mostly for tone and content. Personally, I don't believe that it has anything in it that would be more scandalous than what you could see in an R-rated film, for example.

I wrote this as a Christmas present for Heather Cat (yes, my friends are that awesome). So, this one's for Heather. Everyone else, enjoy.

* * *

_Sex and love is not a game  
A game is something you can win  
And maybe something kind of fun  
Cause love is just a bloodsport "son"_

_- Bloodsport, Sneaker pimps_

Bloodsport

He saunters in, all brash arrogance and lazy accent, and the side of my mouth curves up. It amuses me that I own him. They're perfect, my Turks. Violent, efficient; perfect. I give an order and they follow it. The caveat in our agreement is that I only provide them with assignments of use. It would only be detrimental to me otherwise.

Heidegger is a fool. Even the youngest one would gladly slip a knife between his ribs for me. No one else could possibly understand that, what it means to own people who would kill for you.

Without emotion and without remorse. My father controlled people with money and I may have purported to do so by fear … but these people are not _common_ people. The moment I first looked at my father's so-called bodyguards I knew that they were something unique.

The money is a perk. They're addicted to their _job_.

"You wanted to see me, boss?" he asks, his stance slack like he's already bored. He's dull inside, Reno. He's most interesting when he's walking the streets, his footsteps offbeat as he watches the roofline.

The side of my mouth curves up again and he doesn't react to my veiled amusement. He doesn't have to. Whatever I'm thinking has nothing to do with him. We only exist through action; an order, a response. That's how this relationship was built.

It's brilliant, if you can understand it. The context is flawless.

"Do you have any issues with morality, Reno?" I ask him and his response is immediate. His slate eyes suddenly turn vivid with amusement, his grin lopsided.

"Sir, you're askin' the wrong person."

I smirk.

"That's exactly what I thought."

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Reno has no problem lazing about in my limo, I've noted. The youngest one, Elena, she sits properly as if on high alert. Tseng is surprisingly less rigid but no less proper.

Reno sprawls like he owns all of this and could never conceive of losing it. It amuses me and suits my purposes well enough.

I explained the situation in my office. He nodded around the salient points without judgement or contradiction. Tseng may have tried to edge me away from my unsavoury practices and Rude's silence would've been laced with unvoiced reprimands but Reno accepted this as easily and flawlessly as he accepts all things.

_I wish to attend a certain after-hours event. They can become unsavoury and so I require you to accompany me. We will take a company limousine._

Suddenly, he sits up and if he were some kind of an animal I would imagine his ears twitching. We're about four blocks from our destination. I watch with an odd fascination as his handgun materializes from his jacket holster. The clip is checked, double-checked. A second weapon appears from a second holster; a switch blade is flipped out and slid away; a mag rod whirs and then is silent. In three minutes, he has settled again.

The moment passes like it never was and I can't help but smirk. As I said, they're perfect, my Turks.

The driver pulls up outside the venue. We're in a partially-abandoned industrial district on the Sector 4 plate. The slums surge up like tides in parts of this city. Tuesti is continually trying to fight back the flow. It's foolish. This decadence is a part of human nature. My father left Sector 7 to rot after we ripped the plate down and I'll gladly sit and watch Sector 4 eat itself from the inside out. It's the natural order of things.

The building in question used to be a warehouse, vomit grey on asphalt. There's the appropriate kind of person standing in front of the darkened doorway. The silver chain in front of him and the long line of trailing people is the evidence to what kind of place this is.

Or rather, the people themselves with their garish make-up and vacant eyes are the testimony to what kind of place this is.

I feel Reno slither into that alert state. Someone could die for stepping in the wrong direction towards me. It's narcotic, the constant throbbing feel of potential death. It mixes with the bass coming from inside the building and I can't help but allow myself to smile.

The man at the door recognizes me.

"Mr. Vanderloot," the man says, the polite honorific scraping in his throat. He has some three-hundred pounds on my bodyguard and for a moment I'm briefly tempted to see how they would fair pitted against each other. The moment passes as the man lifts the chain. I walk past him without sparing another glance and Reno is nipping at my heels.

He's too professional to reach for the gun beneath his jacket when we become wrapped in artificial dark but for a moment I can feel that twitch in him again, a promise of violence to come.

I'm already enjoying myself.

We finish walking through the building's short entranceway and open up to my masterpiece. The hollow shell of the warehouse remains, its silver metal beams harsh and industrial. We're at a level slightly above the main floor – I wanted them to wallow down there, one step below the rest of us. All of Midgar's freaks and children come here to play. Sometimes I have the owner send out parties down to the slums, just to enliven the evening.

Oh yes, this is my creation.

The lights are epileptic and the music is invasive. It rolls across me like an oil slick on my skin. I can see that the current owner has become slightly creative. There are metal bird cages dangling from the ceiling now. Men and women are dancing there. I watch them for a moment and can't help but feel approval. Naturally, I'll have to reprimand the man for his audacity but their writhing shapes – the metal studs, the leathers, the sharpness of their white flashing teeth – oh yes, I can definitely say that I approve.

Reno turns before I do and a smirk darkens my face.

"Mercutio," I say, waiting a half-second before turning. Mercutio is a fat man, his rolls bulging beneath his too-tight black shirt and pants. He has his face painted white, a single red tear perpetually falling beneath his right eye.

Mercutio is a devious business man with a taste for little girls but I can't quite fathom his fashion sense.

"Mr. Vanderloot," he says, his tone automatically deferentially. "If I had known that you were going to be joining us this evening –"

"My room, Mercutio," I say with a hint of an edge. The man blanches beneath his white make-up and I control my smirk. He takes a half look at Reno and then nods quickly.

"Of course. Please, right this way."

He leads us away from the main floor, with its bars and chemical ecstasy, up a neatly camouflaged stairwell. You'd not have noticed it without specifically looking for it.

We make our way up the darkened hall, Reno alert behind me and the fat man puffing as he leads us on. At the top of the stairs there's another black hallway. The left side is bullet-proof glass from which you can see all the activity below. On the right are a series of identical black-painted doors. As we pass one, there's a cracking noise and a woman lets out a short scream. There are some voices and then a low moan. The only sign of Reno's distraction is a slight turn of his head. He doesn't miss a step as he follows me along.

There is another flight of stairs, more windows, but here there on the top floor there is only one room at the end of the hall. Large with double-doors, it's flanked by two guards. Mercutio presses his flabby palm to a key pad in the wall on the right and there's the sound of several locks being undone. He opens the left door and lets me pass by him. Reno follows at my heels.

"Is there anything –"

"The usual," I reply. Mercutio nods and pulls the door shut behind him.

I position myself by the window in the room, watching the crowd below with lazy fascination. Reno takes stock of the room, the door that we just entered, and the door across the room.

"This is one-way, bullet-proof glass," I inform his mildly. He doesn't reply and I take it that he had assumed that was a given. He inspects the private bar in the back corned of the room. There is a couch and two chairs in the center of the room that make a U facing the window. There's a table in the middle of them, raised, slightly higher than would be comfortable at sitting level. The furniture is black leather and the walls are painted black. The only colour in the room is from pale blue lights reflecting on a mirror behind the bar. The lights from the club below set a tempo in silence. I'd demanded that this room be constructed with the absolute finest sound-proofing.

When he's done with his casual rounds, Reno walks over to where I'm standing. He keeps his distance and leans against the window.

"So, this is all yours?" he says, the lazy accent there again. He was more interesting down below but, as I said, Reno is always most interesting when he's in motion.

I make a noise in the back of my throat.

"I'm the principle investor. Several parties presented schemes and designs. Those parties were, naturally, affiliated with various partners that may or may not exist, all of whom happen to work for people that I own. So, yes, this is all mine."

He lights a cigarette and talks around it.

"Never much figured you for the leather scene."

There's a smirk at the side of my mouth.

"They are needy, empty people, the entire lot of them," I say, gesturing vaguely to the group below us. I look over at him, my grin stretching enough to show some of my teeth. "They amuse me."

His smirk outlines his cigarette.

"Whatever you want, boss," he replies.

"Exactly," I reply.

At that moment, the girls walk in and I couldn't be happier at their timing.

Reno's hand hesitates at his cigarette and I smirk because I notice it. Yes, the girls are easily distracting. Mercutio's personal taste may be somewhat questionable but his eye for talent is remarkable.

There are five of them. One is costan, her skin perfect and coppery. One is mideelese, her figure flawless and dark. I specifically chose the northerner, her accent faint and delicate at the tip of her tongue. The urbanite is from Junon, her stance abrasive and direct. The last is soft and supple, supposedly from Cosmo but her accent paints her as a refugee from Corel. Each is paid incredibly well and possesses very little morality.

They are all appropriately deferential.

"Drink?" I ask Reno and he shrugs. The Corel girl goes to the bar in the back to mix us our drinks. She knows the routine quite well. I push myself away from the wall and take up a position on the couch's right side. The northerner catches my eye and dips her head lightly. She follows me just a few steps behind and when I sit she takes a position on the ground, her long legs tucked to the side of her. I twist a few hairs on the back of her neck absently and she says nothing. She keeps her hair cropped short because she knows I approve of it that way. Her blonde hair is almost white against my fingers.

Reno watches the scene passively and I recognize that look. He's categorizing. Perhaps he's been around Tseng too long.

"You," I say to the junonite. "Prepare the usual refreshments. You two," I say to the mideelese and the costan, "You may dance."

Once again, none of the women react with more than a brief nod. They've learnt their places quite well. The junonite leaves through the exit at the back of the room and the two other girls get up on the small table in front of the couch and chairs. Music starts up – I know that it's the Corel girl's doing since the controls are behind the bar – but if Reno is surprised he doesn't show it.

The music is similar to what they play on the main floor of the club except perhaps slightly more pervasive. The sound quality is excellent, the bass a throbbing tempo that fills the space in the room.

Cleverly not too loud to speak over, however.

The Corel girl brings a dark drink over to Reno and he takes it lightly, mostly ignoring her. She bows her head lightly and disappears back to the bar again.

"Sit," I don't quite order him. I don't make it an order because I'm interested in seeing his reaction.

The girls start their dance mostly apart. The costan has her hand on the mideelese girl's hip and they're swaying together. Their clothing is quite appropriate. The costan's skirt is black, cut short enough to show her legs. She has skin that any man would want to run his hand over, trailing up her thighs.

As for the mideelese, well, they could almost be matching pairs except that her skin is much, much darker. She looks like she'd taste like dark toffee if you ever took her in your mouth.

Which makes a man wonder what it would be like to trail his tongue up those perfect thighs until …

"I can see both of the entrances from here," Reno replies and I can't help but smirk.

"Reno, I own the people at the doors. I own half the people on the dance floor. I own these pretty young things," I say, running my hand down the northerner's neck. She cocks her head sidewise to expose just a bit more of her skin and my smirk deepens. "Besides my personal apartments in Shinra tower, this is very likely the safest place for me in Midgar," I add.

He shrugs again and then saunters over to the chair. He picks the one furthest from me, I notice.

Really, there's nothing else to do but watch the girls and they're very good at what they do.

The mideelese pulls the costan closer to her, their legs occasionally brushing against each other. The costan moves a hand to cup the back of the other girl's neck, her fingers gripping through the girl's long dark hair.

I smirk.

"It's a fairly profitable business adventure," I say simply. My thumb rubs the back of the Northern girl's neck absently.

"I bet the occasional blackmail you get out of the men in your back rooms doesn't hurt," Reno says, his accent drawling out as he looks over at me.

I let out a short, sharp laugh.

"Of course."

The junonite comes back into the room at that point. She walks over to me, holding a flat rectangular mahogany box. She lifts the lid in front of me and I nod at the contents, tapping the fourth object. She nods and I pull back my sleeve, exposing my arm.

Oh _that_ garners a response.

"Sir –" he starts. Reno never says sir. I let out a laugh.

"Do you know why methonite is so expensive, Reno?"

He gives me a sour look as the junonite works, tying off my arm. I ignore her.

"It's a Shinra-made narcotic. The only known narcotic ever to be produced that's not addictive."

"Exactly. We have to make it ridiculously expensive because otherwise every crackhead on the street would be cured of their addictions and where would that leave us?"

The junonite pulls away from me and walks over to Reno. He gives her an odd look and then turns his eyes to me. I wave him off.

"Mako enhancements reduce the drug's potency by some fifty percent. You should still be fully functional."

He brushes the girl away and she glances over at me.

"You're free to enjoy yourself if you want," I inform her. She nods and sits at the edge of the table, expertly finding a vein in her right arm.

Reno watches her for a moment, switches his attention to the dancing girls and then looks back at me.

Once again, I can't help but laugh at the look. I've been told that my laugh is not a pleasant sound. I've honestly never noticed.

"They're all my property, Reno," I say. It's a statement of fact and a slow smirk glides against his mouth. He takes a sip from the whiskey the Corel girl had served him and leans back in his chair. The junonite tucks her mahogany box beneath the table and staggers up onto the table. She presses herself between the two dancers. The mideelese wraps her arms around her so that she can she can still keep her hands on the costan woman.

When the junonite wraps her fingers in the mideelese woman's hair and kisses her hard, Reno laughs low in his throat.

"Yes they are, _sir_," he says and I know that that sir was meant to sound a little bit cutting. He tosses me an irreverent glance and a grin touches the edge of my mouth. I lean down to press my mouth against the northerner's ear, keeping my eyes on him even as my left hand trails down to cup her breast.

"What do you think?" I ask her. Reno's eyes are green and vicious as he watches us. The woman raises her chin a little, exposing more of her neck. "Do you think I deserve to get what I want?" I ask her and she swallows.

"Of course, Mr. Vanderloot," she says, pronouncing my pseudonym with her icicle-accent. I laugh low in my throat and kiss the tip of her earlobe. She bites her lower lip.

"Spoiled," Reno says into his whiskey glass and I smirk, moving back from the girl again. I'm about to speak with something catches my eye.

"Show me your hands," and she does so. I frown. "Why are they dirty?" I ask. She looks at her fingers and starts. She twists around to see me better.

"Forgive me, Mr. Vanderloot. It is charcoal; I was drawing. There was customer and –"

"That's disgusting," I say, cutting her off. "Go shower in the prep room. I expect you back here within ten minutes."

"My hair, it will still be wet," she said, clearly worried about the details. I laugh and clasp her chin with my hands.

"I rather your hair be wet than having you stink of some other man." I shake her chin in my hands and the toss it away. She stands a little unsteadily.

"I am –"

"Just go!" I say, letting a bit of my irritation show. She nods and flees from the door at the front.

I take a breath and then look over at Reno my right. He has that passive look again, the kind that they've all adopted so well.

"So hard to find good help," I say simply. He takes another sip of his drink but doesn't comment.

I let out a breath and lean back against the couch. I can almost picture her running through the back rooms, frantically trying to get to the girls' ready rooms, pushing past the women in line for the shower, stuttering franticly in her foreign tongue...

Ten minutes is an acceptable delay. Perhaps the methonite is already lulling my anger.

I watch the girls dance.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

The methonite has left a numb thrum in my system. I've stretched out along the couch, my little northerner smelling of lilac and dampness now. She's curled against my chest and I run my fingers through her mostly dry hair.

The costan has started to make eyes at Reno. She's now high like her sister – oh, none of them are _sisters_ per say but they're all related in my mind – and my good little Corel girl keeps on serving him drinks. I hate people from Corel. They stink like poverty.

Any man would enjoy the show my girls put on. That's why I keep them.

"I can leave you two alone if you want," I observe mildly. He tosses me the kind of look that I imagine he reserves for the youngest of the recruits and I laugh. "Suit yourself," I reply. "She's very good."

"I bet," he replies, the disinterest not quite perfect in tone. Like I said, any man would enjoy the show my girls put on.

I realize then that the game here is almost done. Reno truly is dull when he's inside. He's not the kind of person that does well in inaction. I contemplate my options but discard each of them in turn. Yes, the game is done.

We'll linger here a little while longer for pretence and then the limo will return to take us back into the city.

_.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

When we arrive at Shinra Tower, Reno brings me up one of the service elevators in the back of the building. It's the standard procedure when you're arriving at the building so late. The glass windows of the main elevators make people far too easy targets.

But there also aren't any cameras in these elevators. I'm half expecting it when he slams the emergency stop button and rounds on me, his forearm cutting into my windpipe.

"Now listen to me, you little shit," Reno growls and I delight in the sound of it. I wonder how long his anger was there in the room with us. "I don't know what kind of game you were playing tonight but I'm not one of your fucking toys, you hear me?"

He puts extra pressure on my airway but I don't gasp. Instead I smile. My words come out strangled but I still speak evenly.

"Of course not," I say simply. "You're one of my weapons."

Reno growls and flings me to the other side of the elevator. My back hits it hard and what little air I had left in my lungs rushes out of them. I don't even have time to cough before his forearm is blocking my airway again. He presses his mouth right against my ear.

"I could kill you right here, you know that?" he says, his breath hot against my skin. "No one would ever know; no one would care. Your precious fucking company would burn around you and I'd get off scot-free."

I can't help it. I smile.

"But then…" I say, fighting for air. "You'd be out of a job… and then what would you do?" I ask.

He growls and slams me against the wall again. He readjusts his choke so that it's his fingers and not his forearm that are crushing my windpipe. He chokes me with his left hand and plants the right one beside my head. Once again, his mouth is right against my ear but this time I can feel the dangerous smirk at his lips.

"You're seriously fucked up, you know that?" he asks. I laugh low in my throat.

"And here I thought that you had no issues with morality," I say lightly. His smirk deepens and he presses his body right up against mine so that I'm overwhelmed by the heat of him. He watches me – _sees it_ – and smirks deeply and openly.

"I fuck who I want, when I want," he says evenly but with a deeply coursing undertone. "You ever try that shit again and I will kill you. Job or no job."

I can't help it. I smirk.

"I always get what I want, Reno," I say.

He watches me a long moment before his fist strikes me hard in the jaw. I stumble back but his other hand rights me almost immediately.

When he kisses me hard on the mouth, practically ripping the hair from my head, I laugh through the blood in my teeth.

* * *


End file.
